


The Misty Mountains Cold

by Dark_Labyrinth



Series: A Home [2]
Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:41:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Labyrinth/pseuds/Dark_Labyrinth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As to how a Hobbit named Bilbo joined Thorin and company...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Misty Mountains Cold

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first work in a series. I have outlined all of the next parts and will be adding slowly to the series.

A deep baritone humming sounded from his sitting room and Bilbo found himself enchanted by the sound. He listened to Thorin’s voice above the humming and closed his eyes. He could see the dragon, fierce and red, curled among the piles of gold and gems.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_  
To dungeons deep and caverns old.  
We must away ere break of day  
To find our long forgotten gold.  
The pines were roaring on the height,  
The winds were moaning in the night.  
The fire was red, It flaming spread;  
The trees like torches blazed with light. 

Bilbo opened his eyes. They were driven from their home and for years they had wandered with no place to return to. To feel a sense of home or warmth. Middle Earth was full of beautiful and dangerous places. But none was Erebor. None was their home. There were stops along the way to what led them to Bag End. Though, why him? Why Bilbo? He didn’t understand.

“There’s some truth to what Gandalf said,” a deep voice interrupted Bilbo’s train of thought. Confusticated Dwarves. He looked up from his sofa where he lay ready for sleep. 

“Thorin…” Bilbo said then cleared his throat as he sat up. “I was just… Wha?” Bilbo shook his head. “To what Gandalf said? I don’t understand.”

“The dragon won’t know your scent.” Thorin said before taking a seat beside the Hobbit.

“Yes, I suppose not. There have not been dragons in these parts for a thousand years, unless you count the Green Dragon Inn,” he said with a small chuckle. He shifted more to face Thorin directly and cleared his throat. “To my knowledge at least.”

“Yes, and that knowledge would appear extensive,” Thorin replied with a sweeping gesture to indicate the books scattered about. He pulled a book from where Bilbo couldn’t see. 

“I was reading this story of _Bandobras “Bullroarer” Took_ , I see that though I had not known much of Hobbits; that there are those in your history who have done amazing feats. This hobbit fought Orcs, defended his home and you are descended from him.” Thorin looked at Bilbo. This soft creature was of a line of warriors. He couldn’t see it. He fit this neat little hole he lived in very well. 

“Your home is very nice, Bilbo,” Thorin said, changing the subject. 

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied automatically. His earlier train of thought came forward. “How old were you when the dragon came?” he asked then added; “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Twenty four. Just a young Dwarf with no real experience in the world. I learned it all too quickly.” Thorin lit his pipe and leaned back on the sofa. 

“Yes, I suppose you would have,” Bilbo added softly. 

He gazed at the Dwarf’s profile. He was handsome in a way Bilbo had never seen. So much facial hair yet not near as much as some of his companions. His nose was long and regal, his eyes blue and clear. They could be hard, cold, and unyielding, but Bilbo thought he saw more in those eyes. A kindness. Almost a view into the Dwarf’s heart and what was there was pain and hurt beyond any Bilbo knew he himself could ever bear. But there was also hope. 

“This… _adventure_ ,” Bilbo said. “This… quest, will lead you home once more. What if…” Bilbo searched for the right way to say what he was thinking without coming across wrong. “What if you get there and find you can’t defeat the dragon?”

Thorin stayed quiet for a moment as he pondered the question. “I suppose I will see when we get there.” Though Thorin knew, at least for himself, there was no chance he would see past a defeat. He would die or kill. There was no other option. 

Thorin looked over Bilbo. He _was_ soft, but there was something open and giving about him. He seemed almost too gentle to be true. As if a story of some muse came to life in front of him and was walking, talking and breathing just for him. 

“That song,” Bilbo started, “that song you were singing was about this journey? Was it not?” 

“Aye, that it was. But only a small portion of the song.” Thorin then recited the song in its entirety.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_  
To dungeons deep and caverns old.  
We must away ere break of day  
To seek the pale enchanted gold. 

_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_  
While hammers fell like ringing bells  
In places deep, where dark things sleep,  
In Hollow halls beneath the fells. 

_For ancient king and elvish lord_  
There many a gleaming golden hoard  
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught  
To hide in gems on hilt of sword 

_On silver necklaces they strung_  
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung  
The dragon fire, in twisted wire  
They meshed the light of moon and sun. 

_For over the Misty Mountains cold_  
Through dungeon’s deep and caverns old  
We must away or break of day  
To claim our long-forgotten gold. 

_Goblets they carved there for themselves_  
And harps of gold; where no man delves  
There lay they long, and many a song  
Was sung unheard by man or elves. 

_The pines were roaring on the height,_  
The winds were moaning in the night.  
The fire was red, It flaming spread;  
The trees like torches blazed with light. 

_The bells were ringing in the Dale_  
And men looked up with faces pale;  
The dragon’s ire more fierce than fire  
Laid low their towers and houses frail. 

_The mountains smoked beneath the moon;_  
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.  
They fled their hall to dying fall  
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon 

_For over the Misty Mountains grim_  
Through dungeon’s deep and caverns dim  
We must away ere break of day  
To win our harps and gold from him 

“The lyrics are so beautiful. I can see the story unfold in them,” Bilbo said.

“Aye, Lyrics are meant to tell a story. Though I think I see something altogether different than you do, Mr. Baggins.” Thorin stood then and replaced the book on an end table. “You are different than any other man I know. You belong here, Bilbo. I am sorry we disturbed your home.” 

He walked out of the room and left Bilbo speechless looking after him. If he wasn’t mistaken there was something there between Thorin and himself. It felt as if a kinship was budding but just barely out of grasp.

******

Bilbo woke in the morning to an empty Hobbit Hole. None of the Dwarves remained and he found it was as it always had been. Just him. In his home. Surrounded by all that made him happy and content. Thorin was gone as well. A small pang of something niggled away at his heart when he thought of Thorin. The contract caught his eye and that was it, he was out the door as soon as he saw the name: _Thorin Oakenshield._ Bilbo needed to see if whatever he thought happened between he and Thorin was in his mind or real. He was going on an adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> PS... Comments are love. I do so love to hear what you're thinking.


End file.
